In The Mouth of Madness
by oneiromancer242
Summary: Erik and Peter travel to find a Mutant whom Charles has identified as being at the source of some unusual events. In the process of finding them, however, there are some unusual and disturbing obstacles to be overcome.
1. Chapter 1

**POLL : So far we have three entries tied for top spot, and this is one of them. Keep voting, and the winners will be worked on. Mainly this is for me to sort out priorities, I'm planning to do them all at some point. Visit my profile to vote, and if one of the others takes over then you'll have more than one story being done at once!**

 **A/N : This is another of those 'shared universe not crossover' type situations. There will be no characters from the other source appearing. Hope you all enjoy!**

1.

"Da-na-na-na-NA-na! Na-na-na-na-NA-NA-na!"

Peter was singing, or at least making some sort of tuneful noises. Erik wasn't sure why, but gave him a sidelong glance that seemed to question his sanity.

"Why on earth are you doing that?" he murmured, saw his son roll his eyes in that familiar 'my Dad is so out of touch' way. Instead of answering, he had directed his singing straight at Erik and continued

"If there's something strange, in the neighbourhood – who you gonna call?!"

"Sorry Peter, am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

"You've really not seen that movie yet? OK if we get time out from this, we're totally going to the movies. In fact, can we go to Hollywood? I bet they have the best movie theatres there, we could –"

"We're working" Erik said firmly, "And no"

"Buuuuut Daaaad.."

"You're twenty-seven, Peter. Don't whine at me like a child, we've been given a very important job to do and we're going to do it. There will be no movies, no visits to Hollywood, and certainly no frivolous singing once we get where we're going. Do you understand? This is a mission, and Charles has trusted us with it."

"I understand that only the terminally boring would have not seen "Ghostbusters" yet" he quipped back, drawing another hard look in the mirror. Erik sighed a long-suffering sigh, that wave of semi-despairing futility that he was becoming intimately familiar with washing through him.

"It's not a ghost" he explained patiently, "There are no such thing as ghosts. It's a Mutant with abilities that are causing similar phenomena to what the uneducated may call a haunting, and we're going to try to bring them in so that Charles can help them"

"Can we at least say we're Ghostbusters when we get there?" Peter suggested brightly, "You can be Spengler, you're all serious and weird, and I can be Venkman 'cos he's obviously the coolest, and –"

"No. For the last time, it's not a ghost. If you're going to fixate on the details, you could at least read the information we have and get a better idea of what we're dealing with"

In a fraction of a moment, the large wad of papers Xavier had sent them off with was in Peter's hands, flicking through to a large black-and-white photograph of their destination.

"Already did, twice. It's awesome and definitely haunted"

"Peter – "

"I know, I know. You don't believe in ghosts. But check this *out* man, the place used to belong to this creepy dude who had a Frankenstein complex, then there was this couple used to live there who had a whole murder-suicide thing going on, there's been literally dozens of deaths. People get scared and move out as soon as they're in. It's so cool, it'll be just like being in a real-life horror movie!"

Erik counted to ten in his head, put a lid on his urge to yell that there were no such thing as ghosts yet again, and kept his mind on the road. When Xavier had called them both up to ask them to go out to Los Angeles to approach a Mutant whose signature had been detected there, he had thought it a simple matter. Been glad of the idea of taking his son with him, thought they could spend some time together whilst on the road and get the chance to use their skills together for once. Whilst the thought of having Peter cooped up in a car for hours wasn't a pleasant one, he'd carefully planned the route so that they could stop frequently to get him exercised and fed like the bouncy, demanding puppy he was. What he hadn't banked on was Peter being intrigued by the details of what had been going on in that house, and insisting that it was haunted despite Hank's careful and patient explanation of what he actually suspected was going on there.

It was true that the house had a shadowy and fascinating history, and true that numerous people had died there and many others had been driven out by events that had no explanation to them. It even looked like a haunted house, with its beautiful Victorian architecture and lavish art-deco touches inside, marred in several of the pictures they had obtained by spatters of blood. Having regained his calm, Erik took a patient tone and asked

"Is it this intersection or the next?"

"This one"

Erik took the turning without thinking, soon off what he thought was the right path by some way, turning briefly to his son

"Are you sure?"

"Oh you meant to the Murder House? No, that was the next one – but there's a Denny's just down this one, and I'm hungry"

Erik counted to ten again, gripped the steering wheel hard.

"You will not call it 'Murder House' in front of the very concerned current owners, clear?"

"It's on the Murder House tour of Los Angeles" he pointed out, fishing a leaflet out of the file and waving it at him, "I'm pretty sure they already know"

Pulling into the truck stop that housed the expected Denny's, Erik turned in his seat, tried to sound kind and fatherly, even put a hand gently on Peter's shoulder just to reinforce that he wasn't about to lose his temper with him.

"Peter, if you lived in a house where people had died, where there were things going on that you didn't understand and that frightened you badly, would you want a couple of people showing up calling themselves Ghosthunters or saying you lived in a Murder House?"

"Ghost _busters_ " he corrected, "And yeah, I'd be cool with that"

"Well they probably aren't. They're humans, don't forget. They have a very limited capacity for understanding such things. Let's not worry them more than they already are"

"Fiiiiine" Peter sighed, "No Ghostbusting for us"


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"Wait wait – there! That's the place!" Peter lunged across his father to point out of the driver's side window enthusiastically, "939 Berro Drive, pull up!"

Swerving a little as Peter unthinkingly grabbed the steering wheel, Erik grit his teeth and used both the wheel and his powers to stop the car from skidding. If anything the last hour when they had actually been in the environs of Los Angeles had been even worse than the previous four after leaving the hotel they'd taken for the night. Every few seconds it seemed Peter would spot something new and fascinating that he would want to stop and investigate, growing more pouty and irritable every time Erik had denied him, eventually pacified with the box of Ding Dongs his father had stashed in the car for just such an eventuality. As they had pulled up, Erik saw the front door open, a worried looking woman step out and watch them park. Clearly she was used to people randomly arriving at her home, which was only to be expected when you lived in a house that was a stop on one of the ghoulish tours the leaflet Peter had waved promised. She waited for them patiently, a harried, slightly haggard-looking woman in her forties with dark hair pulled into an unflattering high ponytail, making her strained face look even more tense.

"Are you with a tour?" she asked. Her accent wasn't local, maybe somewhere East Coast, "We don't want any more tourists, please"

"We are not, tourists, I assure you" Erik told her, offered a hand politely, tried to appear approachable, "But we are here because of what's been going on in your house. I'm Erik Lensherr, this is my son Peter. We believe we can help you"

"Are you ghost hunters?" she asked. Peter gave his father a meaningful look. Erik shook his head.

"No Madam, we aren't. We are.. investigators of a different kind" he presented the Xavier Academy card to her, watched her study it with a puzzled frown, "We represent an organisation that believes we can help when people are troubled by unusual occurrences"

"Yeah" Peter added, "So, is there something strange in the neighbourhood?"

He grunted in pain as his father elbowed him hard in the ribs. Erik re-established a charming smile for the woman in the driveway.

"Do you mind if we come in and speak to you?" he asked. The woman considered it for a moment, then beckoned them in. They stepped into the cool, dim interior and looked around them

"Is that genuine Tiffany glass, Miss….?"

"Rebecca Lyons, and it's Mrs. But yes, that's real Tiffany according to the realtor – although goodness knows if she was telling the truth about that, considering she never mentioned all the… other stuff"

"It looks quite genuine to me, Mrs Lyons" Erik said comfortingly, emerging into a spacious kitchen and taking the seat he was offered. The woman must be truly desperate, to be inviting two strange men into her house like this, but then again it was nothing he had not experienced before. When he'd been seeking out Mutants with Charles all those years ago, a great many people had willingly invited them into their homes without the slightest little psychic push, so in need of an explanation for the things that were going on in their lives, so grateful to be believed and accepted.

"Can I make you some tea? This might take a while for me to…. Is your son alright, Mr Lensherr?"

Erik glanced around to where Peter was gazing at the kitchen in awestruck wonder. He'd never seen one so well-appointed in a private house, or one so large and beautiful. It was almost as big and well-stocked as the one at the Academy.

"Are you a chef?" Peter asked, eyeing a huge larder

"My husband is. This kitchen was one of the main reasons we took the place. Do you cook?"

"Me? Oh, no… no way. I set things on fire, but I don't cook. Mainly I eat"

"I find that hard to believe," she said with a little smile, "Why don't you sit down? I'll try and explain as best I can, though I warn you this is going to make you think I'm crazy"

"We're very used to things that sound crazy, I promise you" Erik told her, then addressed his son, "Peter, sit down this second, you're making Mrs Lyons nervous"

"Is he off his meds or something?" Rebecca whispered to Erik, unfortunately not too quietly for Peter to hear. He had only smiled at her, however, and come to take a seat at the table.

"We came here from Chicago," she began, knotted her hands nervously, "My husband – James – he got offered the Head Chef's job at this fancy place, said he couldn't pass it up. This house was so cheap for what it is, and at first we thought it was a bargain. Then all the… well, then things started to happen"

"What sort of things?" Peter asked, leaned forward eagerly, "Bumps in the night? Unexplained screaming? Was there slime? Oww!"

He shot his father a wounded look and reached to rub his shin where Erik had kicked him forcefully with a steel toe-capped boot, fell silent, grinned back charmingly at the odd look Rebecca gave him.

"Just little things, at first. Noises in the walls, we thought it was rats but we've had an exterminator in and there's no rats. Things going missing and turning up in the strangest places. And voices – I was sure I could hear voices. I thought I was going mad. Then my sister came to visit, got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, and…." She paused, swallowed hard, "She's sure she saw something, behind the shower curtain. A person"

"Did you call the police?"

"We tried. They won't come out to us – apparently this house has a reputation. God I feel like such an idiot telling you all this, I mean you're perfect strangers! You must think I'm nuts"

"We think you're scared" Peter said gently, "We can help, I think. Weird stuff is kinda what we do"

"I hope you're right," Rebecca said, "We looked into the history of the place a little bit after things started happening. I don't think I believed in ghosts before I lived here, but the things we've experienced…. Well, I just don't see that there's any other explanation"

"Would you be willing to let us investigate a little further?" Erik asked, "Perhaps stay here, see if any of these phenomena recur?"

"I'd be glad of it!" Rebecca said, laughed nervously, "I mean, I'm probably stupid letting two guys who just walked in off the street do that, but honestly? My husband's away a lot, I'd be glad to have somebody else here. I don't like being alone in this place"

"Excellent" Erik smiled broadly, "We won't be any trouble, I swear. And hopefully we can reach some sort of conclusion for you"


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Unable to sleep, Rebecca made her way down to the kitchen, intent on a cup of chamomile tea. The streetlight gleamed eerily off the racks of brushed-steel pans, too quiet in here for her liking. In the past few months when there had been an escalation of the strange happenings in the house, she'd been finding herself sleeping less and less, more often than she liked dozing off on the sofa in front of some awful late-night infomercials and waking with a crick in her neck. Wished she could just up and leave this place, go home to the cosy little place she had shared with James when he had been sous-chef at the Bugialli place. She shivered, pulled her robe around her, sure she heard a noise from somewhere and braced herself. Looked over her shoulder whilst she waited for the kettle to boil and let out a little shocked scream, before she had realised that the figure sitting at the kitchen table was only the boy who had come to visit. He jumped at her scream, over by the door suddenly. Rebecca told herself she hadn't seen him move because of the dim light, but wasn't quite sure she believed that.

"I'm sorry" she said, rubbed her hands through her pillow-ruffled hair, "I'm jumpy, you get that way after a while living in this place"

"S'okay," Peter told her, gave her one of those kind little smiles that she had instantly liked, "Can't you sleep?"

"No, I keep expecting something else to happen. You either?"

"Nah, but I don't sleep so much anyway. It's cool, The room's great by the way, thank you for agreeing to have us stay"

"It's a pleasure. As I told your father I'm glad to have the company. Would you like some chamomile tea? It's good for helping you rest"

"Why not?" Peter said, joined her at the table, was doubtful that it would do anything at all to him but glad to have a little company himself. It was weird being away from Westchester in this strange house, weirder still that this woman who had only just met them had willingly made up a spare twin room and told them they could stay here as long as it took to get her some answers. Peter supposed if you were scared enough, you could do a lot of unusual things.

"So, do you and your father do this for a living?" Rebecca asked, put a steaming mug of fresh chamomile down in front of the boy and sat with him at the table. She wasn't sure why, but something about him told her he was no threat at all, that she was totally fine alone with him like this, "Investigate stuff like this?"

"Kinda… well, he does more of the investigating. It's more that we help people out when they're in trouble. The Academy, where we work? My Dad is a co-founder, I joined up a lot later on. I'm just a student"

"It must be nice, working with your father though" Rebecca smiled, seemed to consider something, before she went on, "Can I be really rude?"

"Sure, I usually am"

"How old are you? I thought you were just a kid but…. Your hair…"

Peter laughed kindly, ran a hand through the silky silver locks

"I'm 27" he said, "And I've had this since I was little. I have a… genetic condition"

"Like a disease or something?"

"No, just a… a difference. Me and my Dad? We both do. It's nothing to be scared of, we're just a little different"

Rebecca offered him another gentle smile. Didn't quite understand, but was happy to accept the explanation. For some reason it made her feel comforted to have this boy around, _this man,_ she corrected herself, hardly believing he was almost thirty with his youthful looks, despite that odd silver hair. There was something in his friendly manner and honest, open smile that she found easy to be around.

"Thank you for coming," she said quietly, blew on her tea to cool it, "We've had investigators here before – they traipsed in with all this equipment and talked a lot of nonsense about emanations and psychic projections and messages from the beyond. They were all cranks. You two though? You seem pretty legit"

"I hope we are," Peter said, eyes fixed on the rack of pans behind her, which seemed to suddenly have been set in swaying movement, "I don't wanna panic you or anything, but is there a draught in here?"

Rebecca froze, set her tea down hard. It slopped over the table with her shaking hands

"What is it?" she whispered, "Can you see something?"

"Just the pans moving – it could be anything, but –"

"That's happened before" her voice sounded small and choked, she looked frightened all of a sudden, "They're not going all at once though, are they?"

"No… they're…" he trailed off, rooted to his seat and watching the set of pans slowly rock back and forth, not randomly as they might in a strong breeze but as though a hand was moving along and setting each one in motion one at a time, before stilling them and moving back along the row to do the same in the other direction. "That is *totally* creepy"

Screwing up his courage, Peter stood and walked over to the row of gently moving cookware, watched for a moment then crept just a little closer. Rebecca screamed again and he closed his eyes reflexively, opening them a moment later to see that the pans were all still, and that he was standing with an arm outstretched and a large skillet in his hand, having caught it as it launched itself at his face.

"How did you do that?!" she demanded, "you caught it – I barely saw it move!"

"I've got good reflexes" he muttered, examined the skillet, hung it back up carefully and hoped the shake in his hands didn't show too much. "Does that kind of thing happen a lot?"

"No – mostly things just move, and I get this weird feeling like someone's watching me, but it's never tried to hurt anyone before"

"Great" he said, tried to make light of it "Your kitchenware has it in for me"

"Are you alright?" she asked, wanted to go over, felt frozen to her seat

"I'm fine Mrs L, it didn't touch me. But that weird creepy feeling? I get what you mean. Like someone's staring at the back of your head?" he shuddered involuntarily, "Man that's not nice, I feel like my hair's standing on end"

"That's what it's like all the time," Rebecca told him, offered him a sad, hopeless little look, "Do you think you know what's going on?"

Peter thought about making something up that would make the scared woman feel better. Couldn't think of anything off the top of his head that wouldn't just make the situation worse, decided instead to opt for the truth.

"No idea. But I'll go wake Dadne-…. My father. We'll work this out"

He tried to sound decisive and strong for her, but truthfully his legs felt like they were shaking and his heart was hammering even faster than usual. He'd thought this would be fun, imagined himself as a brave and intrepid investigator who wasn't afraid of no ghost, but had quickly realised that in the Scooby Doo episode of his current situation, he was probably Shaggy. Starting to wish they could have brought Hank with them too, and resolving to insist on calling him first thing in the morning to see if he could shed some light on things. Gave Rebecca what he hoped was a comforting smile before racing up the stairs to wake Erik and explain that he'd just been attacked by haunted cookware.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Speaking to Hank had proven more work than expected. The line was terrible, and Erik could hear some sort of muffled popping and banging that he thought was not the result of faulty telecommunications.

"Sorry about the noise" Hank said apologetically, "It's Jubilee. I'm conducting some tests with her"

"Do you want me to call back?"

"No, it's fine honestly. Just – no, not that way Jubilation, please! The…. Oh darn it. Hold the line Erik" there was the sound of a fire extinguisher, some apologies, and a few muttered curses and thumps before the doctor had come back to the call, sounding a little out of breath, "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Would it not be safer to do that outside?"

"I'm testing the composition of her plasmoid blasts, I need a controlled environment for a proper spectrum of gas chromatography to be fully effective"

Erik frowned, decided he had no need to know what any of that meant, and instead turned to his business.

"We've seen some of the phenomena the owner described," he said, "A few noises, definitely a sensation of some kind of presence, and a pan threw itself at Peter's head"

"It was a ghost!" Peter shouted over his father's shoulder. Erik pushed him away from the receiver

"Was he talking at the time?" Hank asked, a wry note of humour in his voice, "Perhaps he irritated the dead"

"Don't encourage his superstitions" Erik snapped, held a hand up to his son who was making frantic gestures at him, "We're going to search the house today, but do you have any ideas about how we could track these occurrences? Annoying as Peter can be I don't particularly want him smacked upside the head with a skillet"

"Not really," Hank admitted, "But if the owner is being co-operative, maybe she can give you a picture of the frequency, see if there's any sort of pattern."

"Very well," Erik said gloomily, not feeling like he'd got any closer to the truth, "Has Charles got any more information about the individual we're tracking?"

"Yes – they're definitely very close to the house, possibly even inside it. He said they feel young, but that doesn't mean that they actually are. He can't get any more details than that, whatever is going on it's powerful enough to obscure his ability to see it"

 _Oh, wonderful,_ Erik thought. Anything too powerful for Charles to get a grip on was probably not going to be a pleasant experience to be in close proximity to. Nevertheless, he thanked Hank politely and promised he would call when he knew more, turned back to Peter who was still trying to get his attention.

"What is it now?" he said irritably, "Did you find a candy bar in your pocket that you thought you'd lost again?"

"Better" Peter grinned, "Turns out Mr Lyons got a copy of the house blueprints when they moved in. Rebecca's going to pull it out for us. I bet there's hidden rooms and secret passages!"

"Peter, it may surprise you to learn that not all old houses were built with oubliettes"

"I didn't say that, I said secret rooms"

"That *is* a… oh never mind, didn't you ever study French at school?"

" _Mais oui!"_ Peter replied, " _L'arachide est dans mon nombril!"_

Erik stared, blinked a couple of times, shook his head

"That is… why do you even know how to say that? How will that ever be useful to you?"

Peter shrugged, made for the door

"Dunno dude, it's all I remember from French class though" he held the door for Erik, tapped his foot impatiently, "Come on! Hidden stairways and stuff!"

Poring over the plans spread across the kitchen table, Erik was surprised at how much space there actually was in the house. In addition to the three above-ground stories, there were two basements, both with numerous subdivided areas. He was starting to think that Peter might be right in suggesting that the place could be full of hidden rooms. He tutted in irritation and brushed a few fallen crumbs off the blueprints, looking at Peter beside him leaning over the plans and munching on what looked like a gigantic chocolate chip cookie.

"Where did you get that?"

"Rebecca made them" he mumbled through a mouthful, "You want one? They're really good"

Erik looked over at the house owner, who only smiled and shrugged at him in response to his glare

"You shouldn't do that, Mrs Lyons," he warned darkly, "Peter is like a Labrador. The more you feed him and spoil him the more attached he will be"

"A little spoiling doesn't hurt, Mr Lensherr" she said warmly, "Have a cookie – I'm not the cook, but I love baking. It's good therapy"

He softened a little, took a warm, sticky cookie from the plate and bit into it. Had to admit it was probably the best he'd tasted in a long time. Wondered at Peter's ability to turn people into suppliers of comfort and baked goods in no time at all, but at that moment wasn't complaining.

"It's delicious therapy," he conceded, "I think we should work from the bottom up, beginning in the far corners of the sub-basement. Is it alright if we take the plans with us?"

"Of course – oh and here," she rose and opened a drawer, pulling out a couple of large torches, "I've never been down there, I don't know if the lights work – we got these in case of a power outage, you'd better take them"

As Rebecca had suspected, the lights in the sub-basement had long burned out, and they were in total darkness as soon as they reached the foot of the stone steps. It smelled damp down there, like fallen leaves and mold. Shining the beam ahead, Erik checked the plans and said

"If we go ahead and then right, we should be in the farthest corner of the house. We can begin there" when no reply came, he shone the torch around and sighed impatiently, "Peter? Where have you got to now?"

Turning once more, he failed to suppress a sudden jump as Peter materialised in front of him, flicking on the torch held under his chin to throw his face into ghastly relief and saying with a maniacal grin

"Heeeeeeeereeee's JOHNNY!"

"Am I supposed to understand that?" Erik asked flatly, "Stop fooling about. We've no idea what's down here"

"Believing in ghosts now, Dadneto?"

"No, believing in tetanus and not feeling like taking you to the hospital for a booster if you cut yourself on something whilst you're acting the idiot. Now stay by me, and keep your eyes open"

They had made their way carefully through the piles of junk that littered the rooms, before Peter's torch caught on a shelf full of large jars, going closer to examine them and saying

"Dude, check it out! Pickled Punks!"

"Pickled whats?"

"Punks. It's what freakshow owners called deformed things in jars. Ewww, some of these are gross. D'you think they're real?"

"I don't know and I don't particularly want to. Come on"

Eventually reaching the far corner, they had come to a door secured with a padlock, suspicious when they saw that though the door itself looked ancient and warped, the lock was new enough to still be shiny. With a tiny effort, Erik clicked the lock open, and gently pushed the door.

"Someone's been here," he said, surveying the stub of a candle, the heap of dirty blankets on the floor, a couple of empty food cans, "and not too long ago I would imagine. Those cans haven't rusted, this looks recent"

He moved into the room carefully, shining his torch into every corner, picked up the candle stub. As he'd suspected, the wax was still a little soft, it had been lit at some point that day. Erik thought for a moment, gazed around to try and find anything else that might give him a clue, frowned as he heard something odd from out in the corridor

"Did you just hear something?"

"Um, yeah, 'scuse me," Peter gave him a slightly embarrassed grin, "kinda full of cookies"

Erik rolled his eyes, pushed past him and looked around them into the darkness and clutter, certain he had heard something other than his son's talkative stomach. He saw nothing however, motioned for Peter to follow and continued the search. They had found no more evidence of any inhabitant, exploring a little longer before Peter had sat himself down on an upturned tea-chest and said

"Can we quit for a while? I don't feel so good"

"We're not stopping our work because you gorged yourself sick, Peter"

"S'not that" he insisted, Erik turned the torch on him. He looked paler than usual, "I'm really tired, and my leg aches. The one I broke – it's not hurt for ages, but it feels sort of weak now"

He was rubbing at the place in his calf where the bones had been snapped, and Erik thought he looked like it was far more than just an ache. He knew the boy's capacity for pain tolerance well by now – a product of no painkillers ever working on him, not even when he had been in severe agony – but he also knew the way Peter would frown and half-close his eyes when it really was getting too much for him.

"Can you walk?" he asked, "We'll go back – I can do this later by myself if I need to"

"Yeah, sure…" the boy muttered, accepted Erik's hand to get to his feet, groaned and grabbed onto his father's arm to steady himself. Why was he so *tired* suddenly? "Wait! I definitely heard something then"

"Like what?"

"A voice... I'm sure I heard a kid's voice. Oh _man,_ c'mon, I think I need to lie down"

Occupied with steadying Peter up the stairs, seeing by the way he was favouring his left leg that it was more than just a little residual pain perhaps provoked by the dampness down there, Erik did not see two dark eyes watching them go. Did not turn to see the little flash of movement out from behind a box of old toys back to the little room they had found. They had both jumped out of their skin when the door to that room had suddenly slammed shut behind them, exchanged a look, and started to climb the stairs a little faster.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Rebecca had met them at the top of the stairs. She looked more harried and drawn than ever, immediately blurting out

"What's going on down there?! It's been madness up here, all the pans were swinging again, the TV kept turning on and off, and I swear I heard banging – are you okay?!"

She had spotted Peter leaning on his father's shoulder. Drawing himself up and giving her what might have passed for a brave smile if he hadn't also been glancing around the room in puzzlement.

"We're fine Mrs L. – I get tired easy sometimes, it's nothing, just…. You both hear that, right?"

"No" Rebecca said, looking pale herself, "Hear what?"

"Singing – I think… some kind of kid's song maybe."

He shucked Erik's supporting arm off, forgetting that he wasn't meant to be showing his powers and flickering over to the kitchen door, out into the hallway, back again to peer under the table, searching for the source of the singing.

"I can't hear anything, Peter" Erik tried to soothe him, looked nervously at Rebecca staring open-mouthed at his son flashing around the room like a silver bullet, "Mrs Lyons, I think perhaps there's something you should know about us"

"Your son is a superhero?" she asked, still watching Peter dart around restlessly, "Right?"

"In a manner of speaking. We have certain special abilities – we suspect that someone else with abilities like ours might be causing the things you're experiencing. I know it's a lot to take in but please, we're absolutely harmless" he watched her watching Peter, finally caught hold of his hand as he passed close enough and said firmly, "I thought you were tired?"

"I was, but I'm a lot better now. I'm going for a run - this is… this is just freaky"

With that he had vanished. They heard the front door slam behind him, then nothing. Rebecca gave Erik a look which seemed to demand an explanation of him. He didn't have one to offer.

"Is he always like that?" she asked

"No, sometimes he's a lot worse," Erik sighed, "I'll need to go back down into the basement, but first, you said you'd looked into the history of the house. Do you have any information we could go through – previous owners, some of the… occurrences that have taken place?"

Rebecca rubbed her eyes, nodded. Figured that superpowers were probably better than ghosts, and led him through to a study where she fetched a large stack of papers out of a drawer – all the information she had been able to collect so far. Stayed with him, not to help but to have somebody close by in case things started happening again.

In the sub-basement room, the boy sat with one of the blankets over his head. Not to hide from anything, but the better to hear his friends around him. They didn't talk as such, but the boy could feel them crowding around him, some curious about the two men who had come down into their home, some afraid of them, others angry that somebody had invaded their privacy. The boy himself, small for his fifteen years, was mostly on the side of those who were scared. It had been good for a long time when there hadn't been people living in the house, and he had been able to spend all the time roaming about with the energies that inhabited the place, free to interact with them knowing there was nobody there who they could cause any harm to. Then the couple upstairs had moved in. Most of his friends had been insatiably curious about them too – but some had been furious. He'd spent a long time downstairs with the blanket over his head, sending back and forth the little pulses of almost-thought and feeling that were the way they communicated, trying to persuade them not to hurt the couple.

Most of them had listened. Some of them wouldn't be told. Now it was all going wrong again, and he was terribly afraid that one of the stronger ones was going to try to hurt the two men if they came downstairs again. Among the little crowd, he could pick out the bright colours of one of them who he thought had been a little girl of about ten. She seemed happy, almost ecstatic. Curious, the boy reached out to her and allowed her essence to touch his, enter him a little so that her energy would coalesce into a semblance of real thought, real words.

"Why are you so happy?" he asked, feeling the tickle up the back of his neck as a vague little voice answered him in his mind

 _I like him,_ the voice said. A small, high, little voice that he thought sounded like silver bells, _I want to stay with him._

"You can't" he said firmly, "You're not allowed. It hurts them"

Once, when he had first discovered what he could do, the boy had thought he was helping the others by letting himself be a conduit for them to flow into other minds. In the state they were now, they were free-floating, formless energy, without the ability to experience anything real or truly to perceive. Just feelings, residual things that had once been people. He'd helped an old woman flow into a neighbourhood girl who matched her – had the same colour as her, similar feelings. Once the old woman had been in though, the trouble had started. Neither she nor the girl were really themselves, their memories meshing and making a tangled mess. The girl went mad. Climbed into her bathtub one day and ran a hot bath, drank a fifth of gin, was pulled dead out of the bloody water by her father that evening. That had been the night the boy ran away from the place he had grown up – no parents to leave a note for, thankfully – and come here to this big empty house, found it full of friends. Stayed and scraped by stealing food and things he needed now and again. Had been something approaching happy, and content that he couldn't hurt anybody down there.

"Why him?" he said, felt the tingle creep up his spine again.

 _Look_ , she replied. With his mind's eye, he looked down at his legs – not his, but a skinny white girl's legs under a thick tartan skirt. He pulled the skirt back, saw the ugly metal calipers that were bolted on. Felt the loneliness that they had brought the girl. Then they were gone, and he was her, running outside in the sunshine, tasting the freedom she craved. She left him with a little shudder, and he was a boy under a blanket again.

"You can't stay with him," he told her gently. Felt her disappointment. Though she had only inhabited him for a little while, some of the lingering sensations of longing for an ordinary life, for friends and school and fun, stayed with him. She just wanted to run, that was all. The boy could feel that the odd-looking silver-haired man had a perfectly matching set of colours, that the girl's energies would sit perfectly against his own, knew that to let her flow into him and let her stay would be as easy as sliding a hand into a glove.

"I wish I could help you, you know that" he said, "But I can't. I don't want to hurt anyone"

He could feel that she was sad now. Feel the tug at his heartstrings of a little girl who had not been able to truly live before she had died. Wanted more than anything to give her the chance to run in a young, strong body that would house her safely. Knew that he couldn't do that.

Then he was alone. He pulled the blanket off his head, wiped the tears from his dirty face with the heel of his palm.

Peter had returned shortly after Erik and Rebecca got themselves settled with the pile of documents, looking a little calmer for running off some energy but still distracted and seeming to be able to hear something they couldn't. Gladly occupying himself by flicking through the pages of records, scanning for anything that might shed some light, though after a swift nudge from Erik he had been confined to doing so at a fast, but not inhuman pace.

"Are your legs alright now?" his father asked, "No pain?"

"They're fine – well, sort of…" Peter struggled for a minute to form what he meant, "I mean they hurt, but it's not *my* pain, y'know? It's just in *my* legs"

"Are you absolutely sure he's not supposed to be on some kind of medication?" Rebecca asked, after a minute trying to work out what on earth the boy meant.

"All due respect Mrs Lyons, but no medication works on me. My girlfriend's Dad's a shrink, and even he says I'm mostly fine, I'm *not* crazy, and for a lady who lives in a haunted house you sure are quick to suggest I am"

"That does sound a little crazy though" Erik said cautiously, "What do you mean, it's not your pain?"

"I mean it's someone else's, but I'm feeling it. I can run just fine, there's no damage or anything, it's like…. I don't know. When we were down there and I came over all weird? It was like someone was feeling me out, *looking* for something in me. I think it found where my leg was broken and kinda… latched on to it" He shook his head, sounded mad even to himself, "I really don't know. Hey – hold on, turn back a couple pages – there, that girl, who's she?"

He pointed to a photograph of a family, mother and father standing, two sons and a daughter seated in front of them. The girl looked delicate, unwell even. He couldn't shake off the thought that he knew her somehow, though he couldn't explain why or how.

"That's the Harvey family," Rebecca said, turned the page toward him to look better, "They lived here in the 30s, the little girl was Molly. She was one of the people who died here, she had – "

"Polio" Peter finished for her, "She died of polio"

"Yes… how did you know that?!"

"You gonna tell me I need meds again?" Peter asked, raised a sarcastic eyebrow at her. She dropped her eyes

"I'm sorry. You're just kind of hyperactive"

"You don't know the half of it. I don't know how I know, but I do. And I'll tell you something else I don't know how I know – whatever happened to me down in the basement? I think it's got something to do with Molly Harvey."

"She's been dead for fifty years, Peter" Erik told him patiently, "How could it be anything to do with her?"

"Y'know how some people hate to say I told you so, Dad? I'm not one of them. It has to be a ghost"

"Only one way to find out" Erik sighed, closed the file he had been reading, "Are you ready to go back down to the basement?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N : Yes, anonymouscsifan, the shared universe is indeed AHS : Murder House! I love that show so much, can't wait to get hold of 'Hotel' as it's not been shown on terrestrial TV in England yet. How cute would it have been for Peter to meet Tate Langdon? 3 two of my favourite Evan Peters incarnations! Sadly, they're almost a decade too early to meet Tate, though as you've noted there are a lot of throwback references to some of the previous inhabitants.**

 **Hope everyone keeps enjoying this, it's keeping me out of mischief on a rainy afternoon off.**

6.

Descending for a second time, the sensation of being watched was stronger than ever, as though the darkness were full of piercing eyes. The smell of mold was more pervasive, and Erik held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth to stop the feeling that tendrils of the heavy, rank smell were forcing themselves into him. Had to pull Peter back several times from getting too far ahead, afraid that if he was right and that some force had latched onto him, letting him go alone was too risky. Finally down at the sub-basement level they had found their way back to the little room, found it empty again but could definitely smell the recently-extinguished candle.

"What are you gonna do if it is a ghost?" Peter asked his father, gave him a cheeky, challenging grin, "Want to make a bet on it?"

"I am not making wagers on whether or not there is a supernatural entity in this basement," Erik hissed, "And you need to start taking this more seriously. You do realise you could be in danger?"

"I'm not, I'm sure of it. Whatever I felt earlier? It didn't feel like it wanted to hurt me – it was curious, and sad, but it didn't mean me harm"

There was an ominous grating noise, and Erik was suddenly pinned against the far wall with his son's hands cradling the back of his neck, watching a large stud wall collapse into a pile of dust. Had he come down here alone as he had planned, he never would have moved out of the way in time. He coughed at the dust, gave Peter a look through stinging, gritty eyes

"Doesn't mean any harm, you said?"

"Not to me, I said" he corrected, "Maybe it doesn't like you. Maybe there's more than one? Hey – there! Wait!"

He was gone, leaving a wake of masonry dust behind him to indicate that he had sped off into the darkness after some tiny shiver of movement.

Trying to dodge behind an old wheelbarrow, the boy covered his mouth with both hands to muffle his panting, terrified breathing. The younger man had seen him, he was sure of it, and whilst he was fast and slippery, it seemed that the man was even faster. He could hear him calling out, somewhere very close now

"Hello? Someone here?" he paused, moved a box with his foot, peered behind it, "Molly?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" the older man was saying, approaching the hiding place. The boy ducked down to avoid the beam of his flashlight, trembled in terror, "Even if there were such a thing as ghosts, do you really think they're going to answer if you shout for them?"

"I *saw* someone, Dad. Someone small." He insisted, held up a hand for silence and tried to listen for any movement. The boy held his breath and the younger man shook his head, hearing nothing, "They went this way. C'mon"

As soon as they had passed by, the boy bolted out of his hiding place, but too late – the older man saw him, heading toward the entrance to the crawlspace where he was pretty sure they were both too big to follow him. With a deafening clang, the metal grate that he'd propped up for easy access fell, and pushing on it did nothing, it seemed to have locked into place somehow. He turned, looking for another way to escape, straight into the younger man who had somehow got right behind him in the fraction of a second he'd been turned. The boy screamed, fought and kicked as he felt his wrists grabbed in two strong hands.

"Shh, kid it's okay! We're not gonna hurt you!" Peter tried to comfort him over the screaming and thrashing, jerking back one hand as the boy lowered his face and bit Peter hard right on the first knuckle of his thumb until he felt his teeth touch bone, "ARGH! You little sh-"

"LEMME GO!" the boy was howling, "LEMME GO RIGHT NOW!"

"Dad, little help here?!" Peter grabbed back on, tried to ignore the throbbing in his thumb and the blood pouring everywhere. Erik looked around for something to use, deciding he'd rather not throw rusty metal at the boy when his son was so close by, and instead simply shouldered past Peter and grabbed the kicking bundle in a bear-hug, lifting him off his feet. To Peter's astonishment, Erik did not raise his voice but said very quietly and firmly

"Stop that immediately"

He sank down to sit on the damp floor with the boy hugged tightly against him, and after a few moments he had fallen still. Stopped thrashing and kicking, though he still breathed in panicky little gasps, wet eyes fixed on Peter.

"Wow, what was that? Super Daddy Powers?" he asked, then lowered himself to his knees, holding his injured hand tightly on his chest the way Hank had taught him to with bloody injuries, trying to stem the blood flow with his palm. He tried to look gently at the boy, who was still staring at him as though he might bite back, "Cool it, kiddo. We're not gonna hurt you" he repeated.

The boy carried on staring for a moment, then dropped his eyes and began to cry.

"I'm Peter," he said, "Dude who has you in a lock is Erik. You got a name?"

"Leon" the boy sniffled, cuffed his nose.

"It's nice to meet you, Leon," Peter smiled, "I'd shake your hand but I'm covered in blood and you're covered in snot now"

"If I let you go," Erik said into the boy's ear, "Are you going to stand still and talk to us?"

Leon nodded miserably, didn't move away as Erik clambered back to his feet, pulled the tail of his jacket around to examine the damage with distaste.

"Are you the P'lice?" Leon asked, "You gonna take me away now?"

"No, we're not cops. Are you in trouble?" Peter asked. Leon shook his head again, though it looked more like a hopeful shake than a genuine denial.

Carefully, so as not to dazzle the boy with the beam, Erik shone his torch a little closer to get a look at him. He was a dirty, ragged thin little thing, dust in his wiry black hair, smudges of muck streaking his dark skin. His shoes didn't match and were worn almost through. He felt sorry for the lad, who looked like he had been living rough down here for a long time.

"Was that your place we found yesterday?" he asked gently, "The little room with the candle?"

Leon nodded, looking up at him. He still looked terrified but no longer as if he was going to run.

"I'm sorry we intruded on it" Erik said, bent to Leon's level and looked him in the eyes, "You do know there's people living in this house, don't you?"

"Yessir," Leon said quietly, "But I don't bother them… I was here before. I don't mean no harm"

"I'm sure you don't" Erik told him, offered him the most fatherly, comforting smile he could find, "But you can't stay here. Come upstairs, we'll get you cleaned up and have a little chat. We're special you see, like you. We've come to see if you want to go and live somewhere better"

"You talk to them too?" Leon asked, eyes wide in wonderment, "Like I can?"

"To whom?"

"My friends. The others. Tha's why I lived down here, there's lots of them in this house 'specially in the basements."

"Ummm, no…" Peter said, risked looking at his injury, covered it again quickly as it gouted blood, "But we can do other stuff. Come on – let's go. I bet you'd like something to eat, right?"

"Sure. But…. I don't wanna leave them. They're not happy you're here, some of them" the boy replied. Almost as soon as he had spoken, Erik felt a rumbling begin under his feet, shone his torch back toward the staircase and saw a fine shower of plaster sift down from the ceiling. The sensation of being watched had intensified, now feeling as though those unseen eyes were glaring down at them with malicious, burning hatred. He glanced at Peter, who had spotted the same thing.

"Dad, brace your own neck K? I can't push you both and hold it"

Leon started to say something, but then he was lifted from his feet, tucked under an arm, and everything was rushing past too fast for him to perceive. The whistling wind in his ears underscored by the groaning noise of collapsing masonry. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of the air whipping past him, only opening them again when he felt himself set down on his feet. Immediately his legs went out from under him, head spinning dizzily, would have been sick if he'd eaten anything that day. Risking a glance up at Erik, he saw that he looked similarly queasy. Peter on the other hand looked fine, whizzing across to the far door and shouting

"Mrs Lyons? Rebecca! Are you okay?"

Running through, she stopped dead as she saw the dirty boy sitting swaying on her kitchen floor, Erik leaning against the wall struggling to keep his lunch down. Peter clutching his hand to his chest with a pool of blood spreading over his t-shirt.

"What the hell happened now?" she said, "What was the noise?"

"Well," Peter began, "The good news is that we're all fine. This is Leon, he's been squatting in your basement. Please don't freak out – he bites"

"What's the bad news?" she asked in a shaky voice, couldn't stop staring at the spreading blood

"You don't have an accessible sub-basement anymore. But that's kinda okay really because in my professional opinion as an interpreter of weird things, this house is haunted up the wazoo and you should definitely move. Now, do you maybe have a first aid kit? And more importantly, some more cookies?"


	7. Chapter 7

7.

"What are you, really?" Rebecca said quietly. Poured out a slop of antiseptic onto a wad of cotton wool. Peter hissed and made a face as she carefully started cleaning his bitten hand.

"You promise you're not going to go nuts over it?" he said, met her eyes, believed her little nod, "We're Mutants. Technically, we're a different species – but we're just people really, and we try to do good in the world. My Dad? He can control metal with his mind. I'm super-fast, and we think Leon has powers too. That's why we really came. To find him and help him out"

"Not to help me?"

"That too. We thought he was causing the things that have been happening here, but honestly? I think it's the other way around. He's here because of the things, they attracted him. I'm sorry – I wish we could have helped you too"

"It's okay" she smiled sadly, finished cleaning the wounds and fished in the first aid box for some butterfly stiches, "I wanted to leave anyway. This just makes it easier. Thank you anyway"

"No problem, thanks for cleaning up my hand – holy crap, is that bone I can see?"

"Probably. This is a nasty bite, Peter, you really should go to a hospital. It looks like it needs proper stitches"

"It'll be fine, I heal well. I am *so* done with seeing my own bones though"

She had just finished and begun to pack away the kit when Erik had returned with a scrubbed-down Leon in tow. Dressed in a set of Peter's clothes, clean at last, he wasn't a bad-looking boy, older than they had thought at first. Too thin though – Peter thought he'd probably been living on scraps down there, even his own clothes hung off the boy. Hopefully Hank would help get him healthy if he came back to the mansion with them.

"Is that my Bowie concert shirt?" he asked, a little affronted that Erik had chosen that one

"I was hardly going to give him my clothes, was I?" Erik snapped back, "You're much closer to his size"

"Yeah but dude, my *Bowie concert shirt*…"

"I'm sorry," Leon said in a small, scared voice, "I can put mine back on…"

"Forget it kid, I'm joking. That one looks good on you, keep it." He patted the chair next to him, "Come sit down, I'll run out and get us something to eat in a little while, you look like you could do with a decent meal. First though, we've got things to talk about"

"You stay and talk," Rebecca rose, smiled at them, "I'll drive out and get us pizza. I feel like I need it"

"Mrs Lyons, you don't have to –"

"You've done me a big favour, Mr Lensherr" she said firmly, "I wanted to leave, and now I have a good reason to that my husband can't argue with. The least I can do is get you all dinner"

She turned to get her purse, turned back when she felt a tug on her sleeve and saw Leon standing there looking shy and guilty, fishing in the pocket of his baggy jeans and holding out a can-opener to her.

"I took it from your kitchen," he explained, "I'm really sorry."

Rebecca took the cheap implement from his hand. It had only been a spare anyway, James had a fancy electrical one that was fixed to the countertop, and she hadn't even missed this one. She suddenly felt overwhelmingly sorry for this little boy who had been living in her basement, wondered what had brought him there in the first place, smiled kindly at him.

"It's okay Leon," she said. Glad to see that he gave her a little flash of a grin at that. Went to take the seat Peter had offered.

"Is your hand OK?" he asked, eyed the taped-up wound regretfully. Peter grinned back, made a show of clutching the hand as if it hurt terribly

"Well it might fall off, but y'know I always kinda liked the idea of a hook hand anyway" he winked at Leon, still looking guilty, "It's fine man, really. I've had worse and I doubt it'll get infected, we've got a heck of a doctor back where we live who can look at it for me. In fact, when we go back, we'd really like you to come with us. Everyone's different there, like you, you'd like it"

"Do you have anybody we need to talk to, before you do?" Erik asked, joined them at the table, "Parents? A guardian?"

Leon shook his head. Looked a little as if he might start crying again then drew himself up, tried to be brave in front of these two kind men who had come to try to help. He'd never had that before, been too used to managing on his own. Before he'd run away he'd been in a foster home – not the kind where kids often went away to loving families either. Nobody had ever tried to adopt him, always steered clear of him, he figured he'd been weird since a young age but hadn't seen it in himself until he was ten, and had suddenly been able to communicate with things nobody else could see.

"S'just me" he said, "Been by myself a long while. Since before I runned away"

"Ran away" Erik corrected. Peter stung him with a harsh look

"The Academy – that's where we're from – it's a great place Leon. You can learn to control the things you can do, go to school, make some friends. Some uh…*alive* friends"

Leon sighed quietly, eyes wandering to the door that led down to the basement, Missed the company of those faithful friends, even if some of them weren't so pleasant. Peter followed his gaze, flicked his eyes over to his father and back to Leon, saying carefully

"So, down there - those, umm.. what would you call them Leon? Spirits? _Ghosts?_ "

"Friends" he said glumly, "They're left-overs. Energy, maybe. Bits of people that won't go away. Some houses keep them, some don't, this one keeps a lot"

"But if you had to put a name on them, you'd say they were ghosts, right?"

"I suppose so"

He jumped as Peter whooped and punched the air

"In your FACE, Dadneto! I told you they were ghosts!"

"Peter, that's entirely immaterial to –"

"Well yeah, ghosts generally are" Peter interrupted, grinned at his father's glowering look, before had turned back to Leon "Will they have to stay down there now that the basement's blocked off?"

"Nah. They don't have bodies, walls don't mean nothing to them. The ones that are here can't leave the house unless someone carries them out though"

"Carries them?" Erik asked, "You mean, takes the energy into themselves, something like that?"

Leon nodded. Jumped again as he heard the jangle of Rebecca's keys in the door, returning with pizza.

"That's somethin' else I can do," the boy said, "I can put them into people's bodies, if they match up right. But it's not a good thing to do. People… they don't take well to having them there. They go crazy."

Halting the conversation, Rebecca had swept in with a pile of pizza boxes, setting them down before reaching into her bag and excitedly waving a realty brochure at them

"Two cheese, one pepperoni, one olive and pineapple, and some new houses that aren't full of noisy ghosts!" she beamed, sitting down at the table and happily tucking in with the three men. When they had eaten, and Peter was sat staring at a final leftover slice wondering if he could will himself to have room for it, Leon had got up from his seat and silently gone over to Rebecca, regarding her quietly then putting his arms out and giving her a gentle hug, Surprised, she accepted it and smiled down at the sad-eyed kid

"What was that for?"

"For dinner. Thanks so much, Mrs Lyons. I'm sorry I never told you I was here"

He yawned widely then, making her laugh and almost reach to hug him again.

"You want to go lie down somewhere honey?" she asked kindly, "I can make you up a bed if you want"

Peter beamed at her, was glad that there were still such kind people in the world despite how much he heard about the ones that weren't, stood and stretched, yawning himself.

"I'll get him sorted out. I think I need a nap myself – blood loss and all that"

By the time Erik had come upstairs, Peter had just about managed to kick off his shoes before stretching out on one of the beds. Leon was laying close by his side, head falling to rest lightly on Peter's shoulder. With the two of them both being so narrow, there was plenty of space for them, but they had rolled together to share the warmth. Erik smiled and pulled a blanket over them both, knowing that tomorrow might hold greater challenges. He doubted Peter would leave without finding out more about that presence he'd felt the first time around, had the feeling in fact that he would be going exploring as far as he could downstairs as soon as he was awake and able.

Half-roused by Erik's presence, Peter gazed up at him through semi-open eyes, glanced down to check Leon was still safe by his side.

"Is he alright?" Erik whispered, indicated the boy. Peter nodded, smiled lazily

"Kid after my own heart," he whispered back, "eats everything then has to sleep it off. He's fine Dad"

"You're going back down, aren't you?"

Peter nodded, careful not to wake the boy by his side

"Soon as he's up" he said, "I've got to know"

Erik simply nodded back, left the two of them to sleep. Went to bed himself and tried not to worry about what might happen the following day.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N : Big bright flashing TRIGGER WARNING for domestic violence on this chapter. If you don't want to see it, don't read it. If you've been through it or know someone who has, love yourself and them and as always take good care. Been there myself, it's a long road out. Stay safe my lovelies xx**

8.

When Erik had woken the following morning, it was to a sound with which he was unfortunately intimately familiar – a man and a woman screaming at each other. It would seem that at some point during the night, James Lyons had arrived home, and from the sounds of things, he was very unhappy about something. Whether that was the caved-in sub-basement, the suggestion that they move house, or something else, he didn't as yet know. Wondering if Rebecca had told him about the three strangers she'd allowed to stay in the house whilst he was away yet – that might make a hot-headed husband a little more firey, he thought, dressing and cautiously making his way downstairs. He had been unsurprised to find the second bed next to him empty – Peter was always an incredibly early riser, and no doubt he had Leon with him. Erik only hoped that the two had not decided to explore the basement together without him, goodness knows what trouble Peter could get himself into without a little of what Erik considered 'fatherly caution'.

The voices grew louder as he descended the stairs, peered into the kitchen to see Rebecca red in the face and a large, powerfully built man with his back to the door.

"So you just want to pick up and move do you?" he was yelling, "Go ahead, sweetheart, I'll pack your bags myself! But don't for a second think that I'm giving up this job because of some dumb delusional woman"

"I didn't say you had to!" Rebecca sounded more hurt than angry, but nonetheless her whole body screamed defensiveness, clenched fists held by her sides, high colour in her cheeks, feet poised to run – whether toward her husband or away from him, Erik couldn't say, but he didn't like it. She spotted him in the doorway, and James swung around following her gaze

"And who the hell are you?" he demanded, squaring meaty shoulders, looking ready to charge. Erik carefully didn't react, clasped his hands behind his back and came slowly into the kitchen.

"Erik Lensherr," he said mildly, "I've been helping your wife investigate the goings on in this house"

"Oh well that's just perfect! More cranks, Becky? How much of my money are you paying this one?"

"He's not a crank!" she yelled back, "He's helping me, James, don't you dare –"

"Helping you, huh?" he took a step toward Erik, who didn't move or bat an eyelid, "What exactly are you helping my wife with, Mister…"

"Lensherr. With the apparently paranormal happenings here. Nothing more"

Erik noticed that the man's hand had fallen on the handle of a large Sabatier boning knife in a block alongside several others. He smiled very slightly, thought _go on, I dare you_.

"Then I think you're done." James growled, "There's no paranormal bull going on here. Just this crazy bitch and her dumb ideas. Get out of my house"

"With all due respect Mr Lyons, you didn't enlist my services. Your wife may dismiss me as she wishes, you however have no say"

James flushed if possible an even deeper shade of crimson, finally pulled the boning knife free of the block with a sharp hiss of fine steel. Before he had even raised it, Erik had gently lifted one hand and pulled the knife from his grasp, flinging it across the room and leaving it quivering in a heavy wooden chopping board.

"Please do not threaten me," Erik said pleasantly, smiled at James, "Next time, it may land in something more vital to you"

James said nothing for a long time, looked between the quivering knife and the calm man in his doorway, before he had grunted and grabbed the jacket he had flung on the back of the chair, turned back to his wife and waved a warning finger at her

"He'd better be gone when I get back" he threatened, shouldered past Erik in the doorway and gave him a dark look, which he returned with a cool, level gaze, the front door slamming behind him. Rebecca stood quaking, before pulling out a chair and dropping into it heavily.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Lensherr" she said, muffled behind her hands covering her puffy, red eyes, "You shouldn't have had to see that. He's such a… jerk"

"I might have picked stronger words, but yes. And please, don't apologise" he fetched a glass from a rack, filled it with cold water, and set it down for Rebecca as he joined her at the table. "He went awfully quickly for a weapon though. Does he… has he ever…"

"Hurt me?" she asked, took the tissue he held out to her, dried her eyes and blew her nose noisily, rolled up her sleeve to show him a thick scar in her upper arm, "Does that answer your question?"

Erik looked at the pink, tight scar – it was hardly hardened, couldn't have been there long. Felt rage bubble up inside him on her behalf.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked gently. Rebecca laughed bitterly, shook her head

"No. I can handle this. We've not been happy for a long time but since we moved here he's… well he was never violent before. Just free with his mouth. He's right, I should pack up and leave"

"Worse women have done the same to better men" he said, "It's not my place, Mrs Lyons, but if you do need any help then please ask"

"Thanks" she gave him a watery smile, took a sip of the water, "You're a nice guy. I'm sure you'd never talk to your wife like that"

"I'm very far from a nice guy. And I'm afraid that Peter's mother and I are no longer together. We're civil to one another now, but we were never married"

"Oh!" Rebecca flushed again, embarrassed, "I'm so sorry! I just… ah, who's to assume anything these days? It's the 1980s after all"

Rescuing her from her embarrassment, the front doorbell rang and when Rebecca returned from answering it, she was trailed by Peter carrying a large paper sack, and Leon, with a streak of something powdery and white over one cheek.

"I got you breakfast" the older boy beamed, set the bag down, "We found this amazing bakery, can you believe this kid's never had a Danish before?"

"I take it you've rectified that situation?" Erik asked, peered into the bag. Saw with a little touch of fond warmth that Peter had got a couple of his favourite almond croissants, as well as a small selection of pastries and a little pot of preserve.

"Of course! Now he's had five"

Rebecca laughed, tossed over a pack of wet-wipes to the younger boy, made a gesture to her cheek to tell him what to do with them.

"You want coffee?" she asked, "I haven't had one yet myself"

"For me, yes, for Leon, possibly. For Peter, please god no" Erik smiled, "Just a glass of milk"

"Unless you only have that terrible red-top white water stuff" Peter corrected, took it upon himself to fetch plates and cutlery for them all, "in which case just tap water please. I'm strictly a full cream guy"

"It may not be fashionable these days," Rebecca smiled, "But I live with a classically trained chef, we *always* have full cream milk. He says nothing else tastes the same"

Settling down to breakfast, it had not taken long before the conversation had turned to Leon's friends in the basement, and how they might go about approaching them. As Erik had feared, Peter was still intensely curious about what he had felt the day before, wanted to explore it further with the new boy's help.

"How many of them are there?" Peter asked, "The *ghosts* I mean" he gave Erik a triumphant look. His father gave him one back that said, _no need to labour the point_.

"I dunno," Leon shrugged, eyed up a cinnamon-dusted pastry and decided to go for it, "Quite a lot. Some of them aren't like individuals though, they sort of shift, I think they must be older. Or weaker maybe. I'm not really sure. Definitely at least a dozen though"

"The one I felt... or what I think I felt. I think she's a little girl called Molly, about eight or nine years old maybe? She had polio, her legs are hurt"

"I don't know names" Leon said, licking cinnamon from his fingers, "Most of them don't have 'em. Names are like… the words you use for your body. No body, no need for names"

"Makes sense" Peter considered, "Ooh, put some of the preserve on that one, it's amazing, trust me"

Erik watched the boy, glad to see that a little of his reserve and fear had gone after a night in the warm and a morning with Peter's easy-going acceptance. He wondered sometimes how his son had ever managed to be so lonely, when he had such a kind heart and giving nature. Watched Leon stuff a raspberry-smeared bite of cinnamon pastry into his mouth and make a delighted little _Mmmmmm_ of pleasure. The boy wouldn't be skinnier than Peter for long, he thought. Not if he kept up the famous Quicksilver Diet Plan.

"Leon, you said yesterday that you could… put them into people somehow. Is that right?"

He nodded, swallowed the bite, wiped his mouth

"I don't like to" he said, "It hurts people. It's like… being two people at once, kinda. Some folks have a lot of trouble with that. And sometimes the energy doesn't like coming back out again, it wants to stay in the body and have a good time for a while"

"But you can do it?" Peter said, "I'm pretty sure that little girl wanted to body-jack me, it sure felt like she was trying to"

Leon looked at his new friend, dismayed at the eagerness he saw in his eyes, knew he couldn't really explain how this all worked. He didn't even have the words to explain it to himself, just knew and sensed – his whole world was feelings and half-thoughts, when he was down there with the others. One thing he did know, however, was that the girl who had shown him the braces on her legs wouldn't let Peter go too willingly if he allowed her to take up residence in him. He'd only ever successfully pulled something back out again once, and even that had left the boy he'd done it to in a mental asylum. He didn't want to do that sort of thing to Peter – he liked the older boy, thought he was fun and kind and definitely a little bit cute – he couldn't run the risk of hurting him that way. Shook his head, stared down at the table-top.

"She did," he admitted. "She's lonely, she's always been lonely. She was sick almost her whole life, never got to be a kid properly, had all that pain. I don't know why, but she's really drawn to you"

"Figures," Peter gave him a weird, slightly sad smile, "I mean who wouldn't be, amiright? Seriously though, I felt so bad for her. She *really* wants it. If you did let her into me somehow, do you think you could get her out again?"

"Peter!" Erik cut in, "Did you not hear the part where it hurts people to have that done?"

"My head's already a mess Dad, what's one more thing? For all we know she won't be able to hack it and will jump straight back out again"

Leon was shaking his head again

"She won't" he insisted, "you're a perfect match. People come in, like, colours of energy – the closer the colours are, the more likely it is that I can put one into the other right. If I did that to you, chances are you'd get too mixed up for me to ever get her out"

"Well that settles it then" said Erik, "You're not doing it"

Leon looked relieved. Peter, on the other hand, looked piqued, turning in his chair to regard his father with a hard, determined look

"You didn't feel her, Dadneto" he said, a firm note creeping into his voice that Erik knew meant trouble, "She's sick, she's never had any friends, she's in a lot of pain. All she wants is to run around for a while. How can you not let a little girl do that?"

"She's not a little girl, Peter" he replied just as firmly, "She's some sort of free-floating energy that will, as you have been told, probably never leave you if you allow it in. You have no idea what you're doing – the risks you'd be taking"

"Will someone back me up here?" he appealed to the other two, who looked at him like rabbits caught in the headlights, put on the spot. Finally, Leon had spoken

"She really does hurt bad, Mr Lensherr" he said, a little apologetically, "And Peter's strong, it might work"

"Might is not good enough for me to put my only son at risk, Leon," he explained patiently, "I do understand that you want to do something good, but please, she's been in this condition for a long time. I'm sure remaining in it will not hurt her any further"

"You know I love you, right Dad?" Peter said, staring at his hands, picking at the cuticles, "And usually, I'd totally listen to you and do what you asked. But I'm doing this"

Erik looked hard at him. Looked at the younger boy, trying not to interfere. Looked at Rebecca probably wondering how her morning got into this state. Sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm coming with you when you do it," he said at last, "And you do exactly as Leon says – if anyone can keep you safe on this fool's errand then it's him"

Peter grinned then, reached to give his father a tight, one-armed hug. Looked up at him and saw the worry and fear in his face, tried to will it away. He knew how much he meant to his father, and how protective he was, but equally he knew how bad the little spirit felt – knew exactly what she'd been through. Wanted to give her a chance he'd never had until his mutation settled to get out in the world and live a little.

"It'll be okay," he promised. Erik wished he believed him.


	9. Chapter 9

9.

"Is this gonna hurt?" Peter asked nervously, "Will my head spin round? Am I gonna start puking green stuff all over?"

"I'm not sure about the other stuff, but no it won't hurt. At least I don't think so" Leon said, led them down to where he could feel the girl most strongly. He was sure they wouldn't have to look too hard, she was really fixated on Peter – in fact, Leon was surprised that she hadn't come up to the main house to seek him out, figured she must have some reason not to. Maybe she was too timid.

"You don't think so?" Erik repeated sarcastically, "Wonderful. And Peter, you were far too young to see _The Exorcist_ "

"I was seventeen!" he protested, "Okay so that *is* too young but it's just a movie, Dad. Though at least it's one you've actually seen for a change. Sometimes I think you lived in a cave until you met me"

"Leon?" Erik asked, ignoring his son's jibe, "When you do this, is there anything I can do to keep Peter safer? Any way I could help?"

"I don't think so," the boy repeated, "Just… keep an eye on him, I guess. Make sure he doesn't do anything too dumb"

Erik groaned at the thought. Keeping an eye on Peter and making sure he didn't do anything that would cripple, otherwise injure, or endanger himself was a hard enough task at the best of times, and that was without being possessed.

"She's here," Leon said quietly. Erik thought he could see the faintest little pinpoint of blue light, though it may have just been a reflection, "You have to promise not to laugh at me now, okay?"

"Why should we laugh at you?" Peter asked, seeing why when Leon pulled his t-shirt up to cover his head completely, sounding muffled as he said

"This helps me feel them more clearly. I usually have a blanket, but this'll do. You're laughing, aren't you?"

"No!" Peter smirked, restrained himself as hard as he could. The boy looked like he was doing a lame impression of the Headless Horseman, "Okay maybe a bit. Do your thing dude, I'm ready when you are"

Seeking out the energy, perceiving it clearly now he had his head covered over, Leon took a deep breath and gently directed his thoughts toward Peter, visualised a channel opening in the sapphire-coloured glow that surrounded him, allowing the points of blue that were almost the exact same hue to flow into it gently. At first, Peter felt nothing out of the ordinary, then a shiver up his spine that made him shudder all over, not unpleasantly like someone trailing their fingers up the back of his neck. He had the odd sensation of feeling like he was a glass being slowly filled up with water, or something of the kind. Leon was right – it didn't hurt, but it felt weird as heck. After a few moments the weird filling sensation stopped, and Leon pulled his shirt back down.

"Did it work?" Peter asked, "I don't feel any different"

"I dunno man – try talking to her" he suggested, "I felt her go in, maybe it's because you're such a good match, she's sitting real naturally in you"

"Umm.. okay…" he cleared his throat, hesitated, "Talking out loud, you mean?"

"That's what I do. Maybe you could do it just in your head, but I'm not sure. I think you'd have to be psychic for that – that's mind-to-mind talking, even if you're in the same body"

Feeling foolish, Peter looked away from the two watching him, still felt self-conscious and turned his back on them, saying

"Err, hi? Anybody in there?"

Again a tingle on the back of his neck, then a little voice that was definitely the same one he had heard before, singing a children's song that only he could hear.

 _Hi!_ the voice was clear, and high, and sounded delighted, Peter jumped visibly.

"Okay… well, that was weird. Are you …. In my head?"

 _I'm you._ the voice answered, _or you're me. We're Molly_. _Does that sound right?_

"I'm standing in a basement talking to a little girl in my head that nobody else can hear, damned if I know what's right. But Hi, Molly. I'm… I mean *we're* Peter" 

_Pleased to make your acquaintance_

Peter felt his knees bend and his hands come up as if he was holding up a skirt. Heard Erik and Leon snort with laughter before they had managed to stifle it.

"Whoah, whoah! OK, Molly? You're cool being in my head and all, but no curtseying, I'm a guy, it looks dumb when I do it"

"I thought it was rather graceful" Erik said. Peter turned and glared before facing the wall again.

"Is there some way I could see you, when I talk to you?" Peter asked, "This is kinda freaky, it would help if I could look at someone"

 _But I'm you,_ the voice sounded puzzled, _How can you see yourself?_

"That's easy!" Peter grinned, turned and strode away up the stairs. For the first time he felt something different in his body – not so much an alteration, but a sheer joy at the ease with which he moved his legs and climbed each riser. He never thought about such things anymore, but realised now that to Molly, just moving without the impediment of pain and the braces was an incredible feat. Could feel her delighting in it, infecting him with the feeling of her pleasure. Striding through the kitchen, Erik and Leon trailing in his wake, he walked out into the hallway where he remembered there was a large full-length mirror.

As he approached, he expected to see what he always did, a reversed image of himself standing there. Instead, however, he had to cast his eyes downward and found himself thrown into a confused, slightly dizzy state when he saw instead of his own reflection, the little girl from the photograph. She was tiny, slender, and the hair that had looked black in the picture was a lovely shade of chestnut brown, falling in waves around a pretty pale face. Her nose was a little too big, her eyes a little too small, but she was as cute as a button. Looking down, he saw the awkward way she stood, the bulk of the calipers underneath her long tartan skirt. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, looked shy at first, then beamed and waved at him. Peter felt himself wave back, though he hadn't initiated the movement.

 _You're awful tall_ the girl said. Peter laughed, pulled a chair up from beside the telephone table and sat down, seeing that she had somehow also got the same chair and was seated.

"Is that better?" he asked, gave her his kindest smile. She nodded, "So what do you want to do, Molly?"

 _Talk to me_ , she said, _tell me about ourself. Do we have brothers and sisters? I want to know everything about us!_

The pronouns were feeling a little more natural now, and Leon took a seat on the staircase, Erik pulling a chair through from the kitchen, and watched in wonderment as Peter spoke to the little girl in the mirror for over an hour, chatting and laughing as if having a conversation with his reflection was the most natural thing in the world. Told her about Wanda and Lorna, his mother and father, the Academy, the things he liked to do. About Walkmans and arcade games and Pink Floyd and chocolate and everything else he loved, and listened patiently whilst she told him about her cross-stitch and her cats and her brothers and parents. Erik had brought him a glass of Pepsi after a while, and Molly had smacked her lips delightedly, never having tasted it before. It felt wonderful, this joyous feeling of connection, but eventually Peter had started to feel restless, saying to her

"Would you like to go for a run?"

 _More than anything!_ Molly answered, jumped to her feet. Peter did the same, could not say which of them, if either, had moved first. That singing joy of movement was still running through him, like the first time he'd ever truly sped all over again. He looked at his father, seemed to seek permission. Erik looked dubious, but then acquiesced and pulled the front door open for them.

"Don't go too far please" he said mildly, "And watch out for cars. You're only ten after all"

Molly and Peter beamed at him, then were gone.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

Running was like flying, when she rode along with Peter. Better than she had ever imagined it would feel, with wind stinging their face and whipping their hair back. They laughed, delighted in it together, enjoyed the feeling of strength and freedom and sheer joy. Molly urged them on faster, until the world around them pulled into a red-tinted blur and streamed out endlessly behind them. Every step was a new thrill, loving the energy in their muscles and the ease with which their breath came, finally slowing to a jog and finding a little store. Molly had loved Twinkies, couldn't believe she'd lived her whole life without having had one of those delicious sugary treats. Sitting down to enjoy the sun warming their body and the smell of the grass in the park they'd found. As promised, not too far from the house, close enough that Erik and Leon had caught up to them before too long, found them lazing under the shade of a tree and listening to the birdsong.

 _I want to climb it_ Molly had said, excited at the prospect. Climbing trees had been out of the question when she'd had her own body before, now it seemed the easiest thing in the world. In seconds they were perched in one of the topmost branches, finding a little hollow and resting comfortably against the trunk with one leg dangling either side. Quiet together in peaceful companionship for some time, before Peter had said.

"Molly, why did you want to be us?" damn it, this was starting to bend his head, "I mean me, when you saw me. Why did you want me specifically?"

 _You understood_ she answered simply, _you were sick too. But you got better. I didn't._

He felt her sadness wash through him like a little tide. Molly's emotions weren't as chaotic as his own, and in a way it was pleasant to have that brake on his feelings. He still didn't like that sadness though.

"Yeah, I know. That really sucks, you're just a kid"

 _I've got you now though, and you're not sick anymore – so now neither am I_

"You know you can't stay, right?" he said sadly, felt her disappointment, "I'd love you to, it's nice having you here, and neither of us would ever be lonely again. But what I do – you wouldn't like it, Molly. I don't play all day every day like you want to. My life isn't like that"

 _Why not? We could have all the fun we want, nobody would ever catch us_

"Yeah, I used to do that. But the way things are now is better. I hope you can understand that, it's good to have responsibilities. And much as I'd like it, I can't take you along for that ride"

The presence in his head was quiet for a while, and when it spoke again he could feel the aching loneliness. It broke his heart, feeling with her and for her, remembering when that lonely feeling had been all his own.

 _So will I go back the way I was?_ Molly asked. Peter brushed a hand over his cheek, surprised to find he was crying, shook his head

"I'll think of something" he assured her. Felt the sadness lift just a little. Below, Erik was looking up through the branches, and he leaned a little and called down

"Yo, Dadneto! We're in a tree!"

"Yes I can see that, thank you. Are you planning on coming down from said tree?"

"In a minute!"

 _Can we run again?_ Molly asked, _Fast, like before?_

"Sure. I – we – ugh, this is confusing. *The body* needs to eat first though. I hope you like burgers. What am I saying, you're me, of course you do"

Clambering down from the tree, they joined Leon and Erik to stroll over to a little burger stand, taking it easy for now, though he could feel Molly aching to run.

"How's it going?" Leon asked nervously, "She's been in there a long time now, are you okay?"

"I don't know. Do I look okay? I don't look like a girl do I?"

Leon stepped back, looked him up and down

"No more than you did when we started" he grinned, "You look fine"

They had sat and devoured their burgers in the sunshine, feeling Molly enjoying the company of the two others as much as he did, standing at last and saying

"We'll be back in a few minutes, OK Dad? Will you meet us back at the house?"

"Where are you going?"

"It's a surprise. Just don't worry, okay? We're good"

They were longer than a few minutes, but eventually caught back up to the pair just as they were walking up the driveway to the house. Peter had something cupped in his two hands, holding it gently to his body and refusing to show them until they had got back into the house. All of them looked around in surprise as Rebecca led them through – the hallway was cluttered with suitcases and bags. Erik looked at her questioningly, received a smile in response.

"I'm leaving," she said simply, "Going home to Chicago. I already called my sister, I'm going to stay with her for a while until I can get my own place, but I'm done here"

He nodded, offered her an encouraging smile, walked with Leon and Peter-Molly up to the room they had been staying in to pack up their own belongings. His son sat down on the bed, finally opened his cupped hands to reveal a fluffy, white baby rabbit that blinked glittering black eyes at the light, snuggled into his palms and began to wash an ear.

"You're not taking that home" Erik warned.

"We don't want to" he replied, "Leon, can you take Molly back? But don't let her go – put her here"

He set the rabbit down on the bed. It sat like a little pom-pom, perfectly calm and looking around curiously.

"Into a rabbit?!" the younger boy said incredulously, "I dunno Peter – I've never done anything like that before, I mean… Molly was a human, do you think she'll fit in a tiny bunny?"

"She fits in here, even with me in there too" he tapped the side of his head, "And I'm not human either – if you can put a human in a Mutant, surely you can put a human in a rabbit"

Leon considered it, looked at the fluffy white bundle sat still and expectant on the bedcovers. Shrugged, and decided to try.

"Okay" he said doubtfully, "But if that bunny dies, it's your fault for asking, alright?"

"Understood" Peter agreed, "Just give us a minute first"

He got up and walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall, frowned at seeing nothing at first, then realised the problem, took it off the wall and sat down. Molly looked back at him, pretty face a little sad now.

"Thanks for keeping me company today" Peter told the reflection. Molly smiled. It made her nose wrinkle up and her eyes sparkle

 _Thanks for letting me run with you_ she replied

"Nice to have someone along for the ride for a change. You'll like being a rabbit, they run pretty quick too. Though not as fast as me"

 _Bye Peter_ , she said, waved to him. Again he waved his hand back without meaning to.

"Bye, Molly" he said. "Don't chew the cables, it's not good for you"

He set the mirror back on the wall, turned to Leon and nodded. With a great deal of trepidation, the boy grabbed the comforter from the other bed, sat down on the floor and draped it over his head. Was surprised to find that the baby rabbit was surrounded by a similar shifting colour to that around people, had never thought to look before. It was more of an indigo than the pure sapphire surrounding Peter, but it was a close enough match that he felt instinctively that this would work. Carefully, he opened up the channels again, filtered the little pinpoints that were Molly away from the older boy and into the rabbit. She came willingly, none of the dragging sensation that he'd felt before this time. The rabbit shivered on the bedsheets, shook out its ruffled fur, looked around it as though confused and then went back to washing an ear as if nothing had happened.

"I can't look," Leon said from under the blanket, "Is the rabbit okay?"

"It's fine – as am I, thanks for asking" Peter replied, grabbed the blanket off the boy's head. Gathered up the rabbit in his hands and held it up to eye level "Hey Molly, what's it like?"

"Oh for goodness sakes" Erik snapped, grabbed their bags and began to head out of the door, "the only thing more ridiculous than talking to ghosts is surely talking to a rabbit, Peter. What are you going to do with it anyway?"

"With *her*" he corrected, followed his father down the stairs, Leon coming behind him, "I'm gonna ask Rebecca to look after her"

"She's about to move to Chicago and probably leave her husband, I think she has more on her mind than looking after a useless little ball of fluff"

"Perfect time to get a pet if you ask me," Leon said, "It'll keep her company"

"Oh don't encourage him" Erik complained, carried their bags out to the car and returned to find the three gathered in the kitchen. Rebecca had the little rabbit in her hands, and was cooing over it adoringly, running her finger over its silky little head.

"Oh she is just the cutest thing!" she said, Erik sneered. He couldn't abide rabbits, unless they were in stews, "Thank you so much, she's adorable. Hey there Molly... who's a gorgeous little Molly-bun? You are, yes, that's riiight!"

Still holding Molly cradled against her with one hand, Rebecca stood and offered the other to Erik

"Thanks, Mr Lensherr"

"What for? We destroyed part of your house, found an orphan in the basement, saddled you with that ludicrous animal and we didn't even get rid of your…"

"Ghosts" she said, "And I don't care. You did a lot, thank you all"

"You're welcome, Mrs Lyons" Peter said, took the hand she offered him, shook it politely, reached to tickle Molly on the head. She stood on her hind-legs to snuggle into his touch.

"Are you going back with them?" she asked Leon, "I hope you are. I wouldn't recommend staying here"

The boy nodded, took her hand at first, then carefully hugged her around the rabbit instead.

"I hope things are gonna work out for you in Chicago, Mrs Lyons" he said kindly, "I know you didn't know I was there, but thanks for having me all the same"

She waved them off, went back into the house with Molly. Wondered what she was going to do with her whilst she loaded up the car and then smiled deviously. Set her down on the table and picked up James' meat-tenderiser, which she used to smash the top off his prized wooden bread-basket. Carefully emptied out the chips and splinters, and set Molly inside it gently.

"You be a good girl" she whispered, "Won't be long, then we're out of here"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N : Final chapter! Going to have to adjust the poll now that one option is done, but keep voting and thanks as always for your kind reviews and encouragement.**

11.

"Peter!" Hank called down the stairs, "Could you come to the Professor's study please? There's a Rebecca Murphy on the 'phone for you"

Confused, sure he didn't know anyone by that name, he sped up the stairs anyway. It had been almost six months since they'd returned to the Academy, but as soon as he heard the woman's voice on the line he realised exactly who it was he was speaking to.

"Hey! How are you? Did you go back to Chicago?"

"I did – sorry for having to bring you to the Boss' room, this is the only number for the Academy I could find"

"That's okay, I'm pretty sure it's the only one there is"

She laughed kindly at him. He thought she sounded happier, lighter than she had been when they'd last met. Imagined that some of that tense anticipation had eased out of her face.

"How's Leon settling in?"

"Great – he's… well, he's kind of a chunk now. You wouldn't recognise him. Calls himself Warlock. It's a Mutant thing, choosing a name"

"Really?" she sounded dubious, "What's yours?"

"It's Quicksilver"

"Ahh, that makes sense. Like Mercury, the god with wings on his feet"

"Y'know, nobody ever gets that. They always just think it's because of my hair"

She laughed again, a musical sound that made Peter happy to hear it.

"I like it. Suits you. Is your father there?"

"Travelling. Not a Peter-friendly trip this time, besides I have classes. I'm sure he'd send his best though. How's Molly?"

"Moll _ies_ " she corrected, "There's about a dozen of them now. They're all called Molly"

"Even the boys?"

"Well, no. Those aren't. There's only two boys though"

"What're they called?"

"Peter Rabbit, obviously"

"Obviously" he echoed, "So… umm, you're using your maiden name. Did you….?"

"Leave my husband? Yes. Never divorced him though – I was going to but… well I guess you don't get the LA news over there do you? He died."

Peter felt at a loss, wasn't sure if he was supposed to say he was sorry to hear it, or happy for her not having to go through divorce proceedings. Thankfully, she went on and saved him the bother of trying to find a reply

"If you ask me, the house killed him. They ruled it a suicide, said he stabbed himself"

"But you don't think that's how it happened?"

"Well, no, not really. For one thing, it's kind of difficult to stab yourself to death. Even harder to do it with thirty-two different kitchen knives, a corkscrew, and a couple of fish forks"

"Erm, yeah, I can see how that would be challenging" he shuddered, tried to dismiss the bloody mental image

"Yeah, I felt pretty bad about it at first. But not anymore – it wasn't my fault, I couldn't have saved him if I'd stayed. The house would have just killed me too. It saved my life, meeting you guys – you opened my eyes. I guess I'm calling to say thanks again"

"You're still welcome," he smiled, knew it showed in his voice, "You doing okay for yourself?"

"Better than okay, I'm doing great now. I started my own business – well, me and the Mollies did. I take them into old folks' homes and specialist schools, it's called pet therapy. Sometimes, if one of the buns gets attached to someone there and they have the facilities to keep it, I'll give it away. Great thing about rabbits is that they're pretty much a self-replicating commodity"

"That sounds like the best job *ever*" he laughed, was glad to think that now Molly – and all the bunny-bodies that part of her found its way into – had all the company and play time she could ever wish for.

"It's pretty awesome, I have to admit" he could hear the grin in her voice, "If I'm ever down near the Academy with the Bun-Van, I'll bring them in for you all. Everyone needs a little pet therapy"

"We'd love that. Thanks Mrs... I mean Miss…. Uhm…"

"Rebecca" she said, "Just Rebecca"

"Thanks, Rebecca"

"Always a pleasure, Peter" she said, "You look after yourself, and give my best to Leon too"

"I will. Cuddle the Mollies for me"

They said their goodbyes. Peter stood for a minute just thinking about those strange few days down in Los Angeles, before being shaken out of his reveries by someone bellowing his name again. It sounded like Scott, and he remembered he'd been in the middle of a game of touch-football when he'd been called to the 'phone.

"Coming, dude!" he called back. Took a moment to spare a thought for the lonely little girl, now spread out of dozens of bodies that all got love and affection pretty much for a living. He loved the idea, was glad he'd been able to help her. Knew that he'd never forget the sweet little wrinkled nose and too-small eyes of a little girl who'd latched onto him before she even knew his name, just because she could see he had suffered too, and was happy that he'd done his part to free her. Ran downstairs to join his classmates, glad all over again that he had them and that he could run and be free whenever he wanted.

He pitied whoever moved into that house next, though.


End file.
